


jet ski još čeka!

by catmanu



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Blowjobs, Crack, Croatia, Gaycation, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Rimming, Vatreni, more Sejan in 2020 please, necessary Rock Filius mention, switchy Sejan is best Sejan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:43:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22228087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catmanu/pseuds/catmanu
Summary: In Dejan'sInstagram postfor Šime's birthday, they mention a mysterious incident with a jet ski.  What could have happened?Or: Dejan and Šime go on vacation and forget to bring the sunscreen.
Relationships: Dejan Lovren/Šime Vrsaljko
Comments: 10
Kudos: 35





	jet ski još čeka!

Dejan smiles as Šime’s eyes meet his own on the screen. While Šime went to clean himself off, Dejan moved his phone back up to show his face. His cock, softening between his legs, is no longer the sight it was a few minutes ago. It’s a nice routine he and Šime have when they’re apart—video chat with each other, jerk off together, and then talk. Two kinds of stimulation—good for the mind, good for the body. Friendship. 

“So where are we going on our friendship holiday this year?”

“ _Friendship_?” Šime laughs, but his laugh is tired. Dejan has tired him out with just his words. His _directions_. Šime listens well, of course. He is a man, but he’s a good boy.

“Yes. We’re best friends. We do charming Instagram lives together. Best friends.”

“I just made you come all over your chest.”

“No, I made _myself_ do it. Your pretty moans were just encouragement. Best fr—”

“You’re a dick,” Šime says. “I’m thinking Dubrovnik.”

“Not Zadar?” Dejan teases.

“Oh, hell no. Because Mom…Mom’ll insist we stay with her, and how can I say no to Mom?”

“You can’t.”

“And where would you sleep…you know?”

“Where would I sleep? We would share your old bed. We would have to be very quiet.”

“Dejan—”

“I would have to bring one of those what, ball gags? We’d need it. The way you get—”

Šime stretches catlike and brushes his curls away from his sleepy eyes. Dejan watches the cross on his chest expand and contract as his back arches. Soon he will have this in front of him for real again and he will have it as much and as often as Šime likes. “Nice try, Dejan. We’d need _two_.”

They would need two. So Dubrovnik it is.

*

Sore and satisfied, they sleep tangled in their hotel’s comfortable white sheets until 11. Dejan’s sheets back in Liverpool are of a higher quality, but in some ways this is something he likes about returning home like this—leaving that all behind. Sure, he’s a celebrity in Croatia, but flaunting his money doesn’t feel necessary here. He doesn’t need to book the best of all possible everything. That feels nice, it feels good.

Being up before Šime is boring, so Dejan nudges him awake by elbowing him in the ribs. Last night he’d intended for Šime to be the one getting fucked and for him to be the one doing the fucking, but when he’d seen Šime’s bulge in the crimson Rock Filius boxer briefs he’d sent him for his last birthday, something had snapped in him, and he’d wound up on all fours _begging_ for it. And now he’s very sore. Šime is a barbarian when you unleash him. Well, he’ll get him back for that somehow today. 

“Good morning, asshole,” he says loudly to Šime, who is grumbling about being awake. “You could have gone a little easier on poor old Dejan last night.”

“Awww, are you hurt?” Šime pulls a pillow over his face. 

“Sports injury.”

“So sad. Go down to medical and have them take care of it. I wanna sleep.”

Dejan climbs on top of Šime and pulls up the pillow. “Wake up, you lazy fuck. We have things to do today.”

The first thing is for one of them to grab the other’s hair and bring their faces together. Šime’s lips are sinful. He dares to have that cross tattooed on him with lips so soft and plush and tempting? Yes, he does. Šime’s tongue touches Dejan’s, sending shivers through him, and his fingers trace the curves of the muscles in Dejan’s back, sending blood down to pool between his legs.

“If we’re not careful, we’ll do this all day,” Dejan whispers.

“You could argue that’s what we’re here to do,” Šime says. “That’s why we’re not staying with my mom in Zadar.”

“I am here to see some of our nation’s most beautiful sights.”

“Number one is me sleeping.”

“Number one is you. But number two is taking you on a boat to Mljet for the day. It’s already hot out. Get your ass up.”

Šime groans but stretches a strong leg out from under the covers.

“I’m getting up, see?”

“Good boy,” Dejan purrs, patting his good boy’s semi through the sheets. Šime gives a little gasp. Dejan pulls his hand away.

“Going to shower now,” he laughs.

He is forced to rub one out under the hot water, otherwise he won’t be able to focus on shit and will wind up leaving the hotel with his shorts on backwards or something like that. Yes, forced. It’s terrible. He makes sure to howl Šime’s name when he comes, hoping he’ll hear.

“Yeah, I heard,” Šime purrs when Dejan comes out of the bathroom. His dark eyes are darker with want. “Fuck you. I had to do the same thing.”

“We are twins,” Dejan says, as Šime tosses his balled-up tissue into the trash. It’s a perfect shot. “Should I use ‘twins’ as a hashtag for us on Instagram?”

“Only if you want a lot of girls screaming in your mentions,” Šime replies. “‘My Sejan heart...’ Hopefully you left me some hot water.”

Dejan has, and Šime returns from his shower with his curls dripping big, fat drops from the ends.

“Why dry my hair if it’ll just get wet later?” he says, shaking his hair at Dejan, and it is adorable.

 _I love him,_ Dejan thinks, and he can say it at any time, they have no secrets or shame between them, only comfort, but he’s too content to even speak.

*

They change into their bathing suits on the boat and head right to the jet ski rental that Dejan read about last night. They can see the rest of the beautiful island later. Dejan’s blood is Croatian and it is calling out for the seagulls and the salt and the sea. And his heart and head (both heads) are calling out for Šime’s bare skin pressed against him on a jet ski.

Dejan pays for the rental. For the jet ski—just one—, more kuna for extra hours, and even more for the attendant’s silence.

"I’ll pay you back," Šime says. 

Dejan waves his hand at him. “No, it’s on me. I am a hopeless romantic. Very chivalrous.”

Sime rolls his eyes. “Right, sure. Only one? Who’s driving?”

“You are, and I’m going to wrap my arms around you tight like the fairest of maidens.” He tries to climb onto Šime’s back, but slides right off. “Come, Sir Vrsaljko, take us to our noble steed.” He tries, again, to climb on Šime.

“Did you fall on your head last night? Fucking nerd, get off me or I’ll kick you off my jet ski. And I won’t rescue you.”

Dejan pulls his life vest on. “You’ll regret that.”

“Not in the moment.” Šime finishes adjusting his own life vest. His stare is soft. “I love you, Dejan.”

“I love you too. Even though you just threatened to drown me.”

*

On the water, Dejan slides his hands under Šime’s life vest and strokes his abs as Šime takes them around the island. The sun is blazing hot, hotter than he wants—it’s got to be at least 32 degrees, all because _someone_ was too lazy to get out of bed earlier—but the breeze off the sea gives him goosebumps anyway. He nibbles Šime’s neck as they skirt around the shore of the national park at the end of the island.

“I’m still thinking of kicking you off,” Šime yells over the motor. “If you keep doing that I won’t be able to steer.”

“Then let’s pull over.” Dejan points over Šime’s shoulder at a little strip of sand that miraculously has no one on it. “Don’t forget to put your turn signal on.”

“Pain in the ass,” Šime groans, but as always, he follows Dejan’s directions well. As soon as he brings the jet ski to a stop on the sand, they don’t waste a minute. Dejan grabs Šime’s shoulders and turns him around, kisses him in a rush because he _is_ a romantic, and then pushes his head down. He frees his cock from his bathing suit and feeds it to Šime, groaning as soon as those luscious lips wrap around the head. Of course, he has had other blowjobs from other people in his life, as one of the best defenders in the world deserves, but Šime’s mouth is a _treat._

“You taste so good,” Šime sighs. “You taste so _good_.”

Dejan chuckles. He rocks his hips back and forth, forcing Šime to take more of his cock. “This is why you have lips like that…a tongue like that…” he says. “Not just to suck my cock, but to worship it. Do you worship my cock, Šime?”

Šime nods, lips sealed tightly around his length. 

“And I worship yours,” Dejan continues. “I’m imagining how it tastes in my mouth right now, you know.” Šime sighs and runs his hand over Dejan’s balls. They feel so tight and so full and another breeze off the Adriatic hits him and he can’t stop shivering. “When you start to leak out onto my tongue, oh God, Šime, oh God…”

Šime pauses. “Maybe you should be sucking my cock instead.”

Dejan swats his head and pushes it back where it belongs. Šime’s so good. He will suck Dejan’s cock anywhere gladly, gratefully. He only resists when he wants to tease the way best friends do. He will even suck Dejan’s cock on a jet ski in the middle of the day on the shore of Mljet. He deserves a reward.

“Come here,” he breathes, and slides back a little farther on the jet ski so that Šime can stretch out as well. Dejan pushes Šime’s bathing suit down past his ass and then wiggles a finger between his cheeks to massage his sensitive little hole. Šime moans around his cock and clenches around his finger. “Tonight this is mine,” he says. “You hear that, Šime? Could you hear that over all that noise your mouth is making? This is why I told you we’d need a ball gag.”

With his free hand, he plays with Šime’s damp curls, traces over his earlobe and around his earring. “Did you know I love you?” he announces for the world to hear. “You are beautiful. You came straight from God on January 10th, whatever the year, I forgot. Your parents had nothing to do with it.”

Poor Šime can’t say much with Dejan’s cock as far into his mouth as it is, so there’s no arguing about Dejan’s interpretation of his birth. Some arguing can turn Dejan on, but not right now. Right now all he wants is Šime’s mouth and the soft lapping of the water against the sand and the jet ski.

He guides Šime’s hand down between his own legs and then leans back, feeling every inch of skin soak up the hot light. After living in Liverpool he needs this kind of sun. He is happy enough there, he is happy anywhere, but he has needed this, this friendship holiday. When he feels the familiar flex of Šime’s arm against his leg which means he is fucking into his own fist, he closes his eyes and grins.

At the familiar feeling and sound of Šime coming with his cock in his mouth— _good boy_ —he comes too, crying out Šime’s name over the seagulls.

Šime swallows and carefully licks Dejan’s cock clean from base to tip.

“Two ball gags,” he says when he’s done.

*

Some helpful saltwater quickly cleans away the mess Šime’s cock has made of the jet ski, and they head back, hoping to get at least a nice walk in before returning to Dubrovnik for dinner.

Šime is strangely quiet during the rest of their afternoon on Mljet. The beautiful red roofs and curving trails and fresh air don’t distract Dejan from the fact that something isn’t right.

He kisses Šime’s hand when no one’s looking. “What is wrong, my sweet boy?”

Šime’s face is flushed. “I think I got a sunburn.”

“Poor thing. You’ll live.”

“No, like—it’s a bad one, Dejan. It’s bad.”

He appears to be wincing as they make their way down one of the island’s winding paths and Dejan is starting to get an idea of what Šime means by _bad._ He’ll need a private place to confirm his suspicions, though. “Do you want to go back early?”

“God, yes. Sorry, Dejan, don’t mean to fucking ruin everything, but I need some aloe or something.”

“You’ve ruined absolutely nothing.” They make their way back to their rented boat. “The wedding vow says _in sickness and in health._ This can apply to friendship as well. I, Dejan Lovren, vow to take care of you, Šime Vrsaljko, in sickness and in—”

Šime kisses him, sloppy and deep and fast.

“I only kissed you to shut you up, not because I love your dumb ass or anything,” he explains.

“I will smack your dumb ass,” Dejan says, and does just that, and his suspicions are even more confirmed when Šime cringes.

*

And the truth comes out back at the hotel, where Šime takes his bathing suit off and stretches out on his stomach.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” he groans, turning his head over his shoulder to look at Dejan.

It is. It really, truly is.

“Your beautiful ass now matches our home kit,” he tells Šime. “To clarify, it used to match the white part. Now it matches the red.”

“ _Fuuuuuuuck,_ ” Šime sighs. “We’re fucking stupid. How am I supposed to sit down?”

“Well, I’ve had a hard time sitting down today too.”

“Don’t you dare compare the two.” Šime’s anguished face is making Dejan feel sorry for him. “Was I between your legs like that for that long?”

“When you enjoy me, you _enjoy_ me, so yes, I guess you were.” Dejan flops onto the bed next to him. “Poor Šime.”

“I don’t want to walk. It hurts to walk,” Šime whines. He has such a sunny attitude, Dejan has almost never heard him whine. He hates it. “Will you be the best best friend and go find some aloe?”

Luckily, the hotel’s little shop sells it, so Dejan doesn’t have to risk a photographer seeing him at the pharmacy and spreading a rumor about him buying condoms or lube or a pregnancy test. Plus, he is in a big rush to get back to his poor Šime. He’s only been gone five minutes, but he’s hurrying back to the room with the aloe as though Šime were dying of some tragic 19th-century disease.

“Were you okay while I was gone?” he pants.

“I’m looking online for some new pants,” is Šime’s response. “I’m not dying, Dejan. Only my ass is dying.”

“I was in such a rush to get back to you...so much for being romantic,” Dejan says, squirting some of the cool gel into his palm and resting his palm on one red cheek as carefully as he can.

Šime hisses as Dejan begins massaging it in. “Fuck, fuck. Dejan, be gentle.”

“Surprising to hear you say that about your ass,” Dejan says.

“True. You’re the wimp here. _I’ve had a hard time sitting down today too._ ”

“You just had to kick me while I’m down,” Dejan mutters.

“Down about what exactly?”

“Feeling bad about you. This is my fault ‘cause I had you blow me on the jet ski.”

“Awwww, don’t blame yourself, Dejan. We’re both dumb.”

“We can be. But that is why they all love us...right?”

He rests his hand on one of Šime’s perfect, now-glistening cheeks. “All done for now. We’ll put more on later.” He licks his lips. “Now I’d like to make it up to you.”

“Dejan, you really don’t have to do anything. It’s not like you wanted this to happen.”

“Shhh,” Dejan says. He gently spreads Šime’s cheeks with two fingers. “Does this hurt?”

“Nope.”

He spreads them farther apart, far enough for his face. “How about now?”

“Nope,” Šime breathes, his whining forgotten. Of course, he knows what’s going to happen.

Dejan used to be shy about doing this with Šime. Everything else had been very easy, even though he had grown up hearing certain things were wrong or weird to do with another man. Imagine him, torturer of Mo Salah on Instagram, shy?

He is no longer shy. He strokes the Last Supper on Šime’s lower back before he begins a meal—of sorts—of his own.

“Rub your cock on the bed,” he says as he nuzzles his lips against Šime’s rim. “I would like to feel you come all over the sheets while I eat you out.”

“I’m already doing that,” Šime says.

“Good boy.” Dejan can feel the heat of Šime’s sunburn around his face as he nudges his tongue against the rim. Šime shivers and fuck, does he need that ball gag. 

“Shhhhh,” Dejan says to his asshole before working the tip of his tongue in. After that, it’s not easy to talk, and he does not really have the urge to.

“I love you,” Šime moans, his hips twitching against the bed. “Dejan—I love you.”

 _I love you too,_ Dejan thinks, sliding his tongue a bit further into Šime. He can’t say it out loud, so he hopes Šime can read his mind. After all, if anyone could do such a thing, it would be Šime.

**Author's Note:**

> This POV was a blast and a half so who knows...maybe I’ll write more? Kudos and comments would make my day! :)
> 
> Talk to me on [insta](http://instagram.com/griziwave) or [tumblr](https://theboywiththedejantattoo.tumblr.com/)!


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